


Changing Places

by DozingNeko



Series: Johnlock "Daily" Prompts [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Analingus, Bottom!Sherlock, Co-Bathing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation, Rimming, rim jobs, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DozingNeko/pseuds/DozingNeko
Summary: Sequel to "Hero" from my "daily" prompts.





	Changing Places

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Hero" from my "daily" prompts.

I shout in surprise as John shoves me down. The past few hours have been a giggly rush, like injecting raw excitement directly into my bloodstream. My percussive heart is loud in my ears, I'm panting to take in more air. I will definitely be taking on more small cases of this is how I'm to be rewarded. There wasn't even a chase, no excitement. He was hot and bothered due to my deductions. 

_ “I get so hard when you talk like that.” _ He had told me in a low tone in my ear, causing me to squeak rather loud in a very occupied room. He slung an arm around my waist as an anchor to follow me around the Yard. None of the drones seemed surprised, or to even notice John's sudden possessive change in behaviour. 

Lestrade was clear and concise, demanding to be debriefed, which John and I did expediently. Our visit ended with a congratulations and a few sneers from Donovan as we left. 

He didn't cease touching me throughout the cab ride. A brazen squeeze to my groin caused me to yelp, rub myself against his hand until the cabbie barked for both of us to stop. At that point John sat back, let his knees fall apart to advertise his perky cock and sat silently for the rest of the ride. 

He took his goddamn time paying the driver, with a nice tip as an apology for our activities, ignoring me whilst I impatiently tapped my foot and cleared my throat loudly. We dragged one another inside, I yelped as he turned me around and threw me face down on the sofa by my arse. 

_ “Excellent,” _ he breathed softly into my coat, sliding gently up my body and kissing me, biting the smooth skin beneath my ear.  _ “I've been wanting to bend you over this couch and fuck you stupid.” _ His fingers threaded affectionately through my hair before his forearm flexed and pumped my face downward. 

It happened so quickly, I'm unsure of how to react, panting into the leather cushion smushed against my cheek. My fingers claw dumbly for purchase, the wrinkles thudding rapidly beneath my nails as they drag back towards my body. “John.” I grunt, whimpering at the sensation of his prick thrust uselessly against my arse. 

John shushes me, using one hand to hike up my coat to my lower back. “Lie still. Don't struggle.” 

The words are arbitrary. Struggle? Why would I struggle against John? He wouldn't hurt me unprovoked. I don't believe I've provoked him. “Alright.” I conceded, happily limp beneath him. 

“You ever finger yourself?”

“I-"

“Or been fingered? Prostate check or anything?”

His brisk interview goes unanswered for several seconds. “Ah, not really.” I swallow hard, reaching down to hold my crotch, easing myself of the sharp edge of sexual hunger. 

John doesn't say anything to that, gently pulling my trousers down, over my arse and to my knees. His heat vanishes, his hand removed from the back of my head gradually, ready to push me back down if I move. I don't. 

“I'll take it slow, alright? And you'll tell me if you want me to slow down or stop, won't you?” He prompts, shifting downwards to kiss my bottom tenderly. 

I nod and tangle my fingers in my own hair. “I will.” I promise him, trembling with anticipation. As if with the sole intention to spite my expectations, John hasn't tried to engage in anything involving either of our rectums. He spent our times together getting me accustomed to touch, not suddenly thrusting into my arse. 

“Good, thank you. Now, lean forward, flat on your belly.” He presses me down, a hand on my ischial spine. “Open your legs. Perfect. Hold still, now. It will be odd, maybe a little uncomfortable, but you're gonna tell me it's too much.”

I can feel his breath on my arsehole as he speaks. My abdominal muscles as well as my cock twitch. It  _ is _ odd. I'm not sure if my anus has been touched outside of a restroom.  _ “Mph,” _ I shove my face into the cushion and exhale harshly. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” He rubs soothing circles on my rump and my heart settles a bit. His nose bumps against my tailbone tenderly, his lips teasing at the idea of delving into my cleft. “I'm not doing anything until you relax and you're ready.”

The suggestion that I'm not epitome of calm is most irritating. “I'm relaxed.” I growl at him, yelping when he grips the back of my leg and squeezes. 

“You're not.” He says patiently. “Let me,” he reaches around to take my cock, steadily pumping my shaft without pause,  _ “yes,  _ good boy. Look at how pretty you are, love.” 

I groan and rock into his fist, pressing my exposed buttock against his cheek, getting myself a playful bite which smarts for a moment before vanishing. “I hate it when you do that.” I tell him, blushing all sorts of scarlet. “I hate compliments.”

“You get off on compliments.” John overrules. “And I get off on helping you get off, so you just do what feels right. What feels _ good.” _ He kisses my arse again, literally, and I can feel his moist tongue swishing back and forth against my skin. He bites again and it's euphoric. I thrust into his hand and then against his cheek. His abrasive stubble his heaven on my sensitive flesh. He's done nothing with my arse aside from tender, loving gropes while we lie together, a pinch to my buttock if I'm particularly  _ nasty _ . He doesn't shower it with praise, aside from the occasional comment about how shapely it is, or how lovely I look in a pair of trousers or nothing at all. 

His face brushes my backside mercilessly before he releases my cock and spreads me with his hands. I feel like an actual virgin sacrifice.  _ “John.” _ I croak as something soft and damp and definitely tongue slides sinfully over my exposed sphincter. My toes stretch out in my shoes and holy hell it feels nearly criminal to enjoy such a depraved act. John's steady hand on my lumbar keeping me steady even as his tongue shoves past my muscle and into my body. John growls and pulls on my thighs to keep himself firmly seated. 

It's warm and slick. I moan loudly, shifting my hips backwards, pressing him as far as either of us can go. “Be still, sweet. Let me take care of you.”

“John.” I snap fiercely, but his fingertips merely dig into my hamstrings while the others guide my hips down. 

“Hold still, or I'm stopping.” He warns half heartedly, dragging his hand from my spine to my bollocks, squeezing and massaging the air from my lungs. “I'll be good for you, love, but you've got to be good for me as well. Okay?”

I nod eagerly. “Yes, John.”

“Good boy.” He pats my backside. “Good,” he cuts himself off to lick me once more, holding me open with one thumb. I've had no prior experience; I've never bummed, no fingers up my arse prior to my awakening, watching John finger himself open enough to seat a cock, -my cock, which, while lovely in terms of girth and what have you, is more impressive lengthwise in my very opinionated opinion, - I had a long shower when John went to work two days later, mimicking him as best I could manage. Guilt made me come clean as he stepped in the door with dinner hooked on his fingers.  _ “I fingered myself in the shower while you were gone.” _

_ “Erm, good.” _ He'd said awkwardly, some colour rising to his cheeks as he chuckled.  _ “A simple 'hello’ would suffice, you know.” _

A bad taste comes to my mouth as I recall how I'd spilled my blackened soul to him,  _ “I'd promised that my sexual discoveries would be with you and that I trust you but I was just so nervous, I was concerned that maybe my body wouldn't allow an intrusion - it may be transport but it does not always obey me - and I didn't even know if it was an erogenous area, so I wanted to try just to see if I would and I'm,” _

The moan I emit stutters as John plays gently with my cock. He doesn't wank me, as I'd hoped. He takes his time, feeling the slippery fluid that wells at my slit, regardless of how it makes me go hatefully boneless while I hiss his name like a venomous swear. 

“Do you want to try a finger?” John asks lightly, like he's not been pressing part of his face inside of me. “Remember, no rush. I can keep at this if you want me to, or we can stop altogeth-"

I interrupt him by groaning and shifting my legs. “Don't stop, John.”

He sits up and his heat is gone, replaced by inflamed goosebumps. “You want me to keep eating your arse, then?” He asks as he takes off my loafers, the casually doting prick. If our positions would allow, I'd kick him. As we are, I'm helpless. I can barely move my legs as my slacks are worked down to my ankles. If I move my arms too vigorously it'd have me halfway on the floor. 

“Fingers. Please, fingers.” I bend my knees a bit to wriggle an invitation. My shoes hit the floor with a loud thump. John's hand lands between my shoulders. 

I can feel his amusement like fever. “Alright, alright, love. Keep still.” He tells me fondly, leaning down to nuzzle the nape of my neck. I can feel my sweat stick to him. I'm vaguely nauseated by the thought. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite impatient. Please, hurry.” I begin to beg. John snickers and massages my buttocks. 

He's languid: takes his time torturing me, breathing through his nose - smelling my hair - while he torments me, coaxing my muscles to relax. “We're taking our time.” He announces cruelly, keeping that suave roll to each syllable. 

“You practically coerced me to fuck you.” I snap, recalling his numerous commands to hurry, thrust harder, wank him off, hold onto his thighs and snap my hips upwards, until I came in him and he covered my chest in hot spunk. “This is unfair.”

John smiles, kissing my cheek tenderly. “That's because I'm an arsehole.” He announces, reaching into his tan jacket for a little package of lube. “I'm only going slow because you've never... done...”

“I've put fingers-” I hastily stop myself from going further, which only makes John laugh and kiss the back of my jaw. “Have mercy on me, yes?”

He rolls me over and kisses me once, and then again, holding my skull in one of his hands and keeping me as a willing hostage as one finger pushed into me. “Alright,” he submits, and it sounds like a revelation as his digit sinks in until it's fully seated. 

_ Alright _ is right. I tilt my head back and open my mouth to groan in appraisal. His touch his surer than mine had been. I didn't even notice him slicking up his finger, I muse as I open my legs wider, inviting him to have his way. 

“Your shirt.” He notices darkly, staring at the buttons that strain to hold my button up over my chest. “Open it.” His eyes snap up to mine and my fingers suddenly come alive with the urgent need to please.  _ Remove shirt, remove shirt, _ it's easier said than done, two words compared to the following:  _ John descends to push his mouth against mine, his throat producing the growl of a sated beast while he leans on his good shoulder which frees him to stroke his cock through his jeans. I can taste myself on his tongue and it's depraved and taboo and I want more of it. I take two handfuls of his buttocks through his jeans and invoke a long sigh as his tongue slides into my mouth and licks mine, the hand on his cock sliding upwards to caress my jaw, _ eighty eight words. 

I manage three buttons before he excuses his lips from the kiss and integrates his face in the curve of my neck, not reacting to my surprised yelp while he bites my collarbone and shortly thereafter sucks the cartilage of my thyroid between his lips. I'm confident that he can feel my groan when he answers with one similar. 

He works quickly, sliding his finger out and pressing two in before I can muster complaint. Rather than complaining, I cry. Not embarrassing full body sobs, but rather a shaky whimper. “John-”

“Your shirt.” He reminds me, tucking his chin into the cradle my collar provided. John was mindful to shift upwards so I could undo the button and hastily follow through with the rest, while he patiently kisses my belly and nuzzles the coarse hair that leads toward my prick. Warm air stirs my pubic area as he gazes down at my groin, nipping my pelvic area with surprisingly sharp teeth. 

Suddenly his head is in my hands and I hold him in place.  _ “John!” _ I pray, rewarded by a gentle brush of his cheek and temple over my length. Despite his prickly facial hair, the touch feels like salvation. I buck upwards once more and he giggles when I only manage to pop him in the chin and the underside of his jaw. 

“Another time.” He promises, delivering an alluring lick to my urethral sphincter which makes my heart pump roughly against my sternum, following it with a wet kiss that goes nearly a third of the way up my cockhead. He pulls off before I can thrust up into that inviting heat. He smiles playfully and shifts further down. 

My hands scramble for purchase as his tongue presses in between his fingers, spreading me just a bit wider. Finally I dig my nails into the armrest and foolishly kick my legs until my slacks are off and wrench my legs as wide as they’ll go. 

Very wide, I suspect as I watch John's eyes snap open, looking at either of my stocking feet. His smile is amused and fond as his hand comes to hold the curve of my upper thigh, gently dragging his nails through my rough hair. He grunts unhappily when I press back against his face, holds my flesh in a merciless vice. “Hold still.” He orders, pull out and lathering his ring finger with lube. 

The last few minutes of prep trickle by excruciatingly slowly. Three thrusts of his fingers followed by a slow spread, rinse and repeat, pausing each time I show discomfort. The process of stretching me open like a surgical speculum, slow and relentless, gentled by the press of his lips on my nipples - not soothing the ache but making it bearable.  _ “Fuck! Shit, John.” _

Being filled hadn't crossed my mind until now. I'd managed two fingers in the shower until guilt got the better of me and I'd stopped, but fucked, like this, is otherworldly. I whine and scratch at the pleather, shifting restlessly as my chest bobs in short whimpers because I  _ want _ so badly. 

“I've got you.” He promises earnestly, with a pleasant, tender expression. “Be patient, love. I don't want to hurt you.” 

I shake my head and grind my teeth. “You won't hurt me, John. Please. Fuck me. I need you.”

John's pupils blew wide and he growled. “One more finger?” He bargained, making a tendril of heat crawl up from my cock to my throat. While I nod eagerly, he slides his pinkie in as well. “God, you're amazing.” He tells me, but I'm not sure how he found the air. I, myself, can hardly breathe. “You're incredible, stretched massive over my knuckles.”

Sucking down oxygen, waking my last few brain cells, I pant,  _ “photo,” _ because while this is probably the most embarrassed and debauched I've ever been and I want to have it immortalised forever in John's mobile hard drive. “Please, take a photo. I want to see it.”

“Sherlock, I,” his face pinches as if he's in pain. “I can't just-”

“I'll delete it if I change my mind.” I snarl at him, pulling my own hair sharply. “I need to see it, John. I want to see how you've ruined me.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he produces his phone, angling it between my buttocks and clicking a picture. Then he turns on the flash and takes another. Then he stretches me open until I yelp and my stomach caves with the force it takes me not to ejaculate from the sensation. “Nothing does it justice.” He informs me with a frown, turning the screen around to show me the fruit of his labour. 

It's unreal. 

I'm staring at what I'm certain is my anus, pressed open beyond what I thought possible around John's battered, slick knuckles. My bollocks rest about a centimetre over his thumb, and I can just make out the base of my flushed cock. 

My body convulses. My synapses are firing off. I'm going to come. I'm going to come now. With John's fingers inside of me. Looking at John's fingers inside of me with his fingers inside of me is going to-

All of my thought processes are stopped short by the consuming force of my orgasm. My throat feels as though I've swallowed glass and washed out down with sand. My cock is throbbing and pulsing as fluid spritzes up my chest in quick pumps. 

I feel horrible and sticky and stupid and useless when I open my eyes, shame covering my torso in thick liquid streaks. 

_ “Jesus Christ,” _ John pants, tossing his phone aside and unzipping his jeans. His eyes are massive and dark as he frees his cock and begins to stroke. He's surprisingly thick, wider than my hole has been stretched to. Despite my overwhelming embarrassment, I do _ want _ it. “Your face. Your fucking face.” He gently took his fingers from my arse to slide them over his prick. His freed hand drags through his hair, somehow mussing it up further. A small part of me hopes it will never be corrected. 

I turn away. I can't bear to see how randy he is by my misfortune. He lays overtop me, and I can feel his arm shifting his he masturbates, breathing heavily against the side of my neck. “Don't hide. Please, never hide.” He encourages, biting softly at my ear. “You're incredible. It's nothing to be embarrassed by, Sherlock, it was ethereal.”

“Not what I wanted.” I respond, easily construed as complaining. I was so set on coming with John's cock inside of me, his cum in my belly, that I overexcited myself into coming.  _ Stupid. Idiot. _

Nevertheless John sucks my earlobe, summoning a shiver from my exhaustion. “I know, love. I'm sorry, I know that's not how you wanted to do it.” He sympathises, kissing the soft skin at the very end of my jaw. “But it's okay. We can stop n-" he broke off to gasp shakily, “n-now, or we can-”

“Keep going.” I tell him. He's so desperate, I can see it in the strong set of his shoulders. I should allow him to take his bounty. It's only fair. 

Agreeably, he sits up and fumbles for a condom. My disappointment must show because he glares at me in warning. “I'm not taking any chances.” He announces as he guides the latex away from the tear line and carefully opens it. 

“We're both clean.” I tell him briskly, glaring myself. “I was tested at rehab and I haven't used since. I've also been celibate since two weeks ago, so my window for infection-”

_ “Sherlock,” _ he interrupts, determinedly sheathing himself in rubber, “we’re not doing this now. Until we go into a clinic and we're tested together, we're not going raw. Understand?”

I feel scolded, rather stupid. Could I have contracted something? Seems rather unlikely. “Yes, John.” I concede, raising my chin petulantly.

He cups the backs of my knees and nearly bends me in half. I look back down, sweat accumulating over my forehead. “It's because I want to keep you safe.” He tells me firmly. I'm not sure why his saying so makes my limp cock stir. “I don't want to give _ you _ something, but if you already do have something, God forbid, I want to have it treated as soon as possible.”

I nod, eyes fixed on his glistening cockhead. It's girthier than the stretch of his cock, which by itself is bigger than my arsehole. It fits wonderfully in John's palm. My knees touch down on my shoulders and I wrap my arms around them, to John's intense arousal. My chest flushes a pale coral when he gasps. 

“Hold still.” He coaches me coolly, scooting closer on his knees, pressing the glans to my entrance. It's hot, yet I can feel the rubber muting the heat of his precum on my rim. My head falls back. 

The pressure is slight and then immense as he presses into me, managing a fraction of his head before no more will fit through. “Oh fuck, John-”

John shushes me, stroking the back of my thigh gently. “I know love,” I'm suspicious that he doesn't know. It burns like a magma enema, “just push, gently.”

Heat rushes to my face, pointedly _ away _ from my groin. “I do beg your pardon.”

He smiles, squeezing my muscle in his palm. “It's weird, I know. But behaving as though you're having a bowel movement makes the initial penetration a bit easier.”

“I want you to know that a bowel movement is not exactly what I'm hoping to emulate.” I inform him tersely, immensely irritated by his fond chuckle. 

“God I hope not. Just try it. If it doesn't work,”

“Can't you just push in harder?” I pout unhappily. 

John leans down to kiss my sternum, biting my pectorals sharply. “I could. I'm not trying to emulate me forcing my cock inside you.” He returned. 

Swallowing my embarrassment - first coming prematurely and now being asked to feign defecation - I flex my internal muscles. John sinks in further and kisses my chest wherever he can reach. It aches and burns and I'm about to have a shame-induced panic, but I push again and his head is fully seated. John groans loudly, hugging me to him tightly. 

“Push in, please.” I try for persuasive but I sound needy. 

John nods and guides his hips upwards into me, filling me past his fingers and stopping once he reaches untouched territory. “Keep going?” He asks, and he sounds short of breath, as though he's moments away from losing consciousness.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, John, please,” my heels rest on his shoulders and he grunts, “all of it. Please, all the way-” my breath stutters and falls short as more of his cock slides slickly into me. It aches and burns so exquisitely, it's the dictionary definition of euphoria.  _ “Oh fuck,” _

A short laugh escapes him as he strokes my flesh. “You're doing excellent, sweetheart.” He promises as he jerks out and back in. The suddenness makes me shout and clutch to him helplessly. My ankles land on his shoulders and I don't realise it until he bites at my ankle. “You feel perfect, love. Do you want me to talk to you?”

I open my eyes and gaze at him, his face dripped with sweat, his muscles flexing wonderfully as he thrust shallowly. “Yes, please.” I encourage, breathing out through my nose. 

He drags himself up my body, kissing me hard on my lips and filling me with more of his magnificent cock. “I can feel how tight you are,” he informs me, not impolitely, “it's almost as if I haven't been fingering you for half an hour.” At last I realise that he's still dressed.  _ “Fuck,” _ he groans as my body instinctually squeezes him. His hands find the underside of my knees and hold them by my ears, holding my buttocks apart, whether or not it's conscious. He feeds his length into me until I sob and he's fully inside of me, panting and sweaty, his eyes clouded and wild. “God, that's me, all of me.” He growls, kissing me once more. “I can taste you, I can feel the slick, I feel your heart-”

I toss my head back and release a noise that can't be defined. A throaty gurgle-shout, perhaps. “Oh my god, this is,” my eyes have rolled back, and I dig my nails into his broad shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he nods and withdraws very slightly only to shove back in with astounding force. The movement drags a grunt out of him and I kick my legs when I feel a slight pleasurable pressure inside of me. “Sounds like your prostate, love.” 

My mouth takes on a life of its own as I smile crookedly at him. “I was unaware prostates made a signature sound.”

He pounds hard into me, squeezing my muscle. “This is a learning experience.” He guides me onto his lap and seats himself deeper. He groans and I holler. “Beautiful.” He praises, rolling his hips in short strokes. 

I stretch underneath him, panting and yanking at my own hair with a thready wail. “Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ Fuck.” I hiss continuously, rocking in time with him, bumping my buttocks against his femurs. I feel insane. His dark eyes beat down on me, reaching into my being. “John please,”

His expression softens and he shushes me, not stopping the steady snap of his hips. “Hold on, love, just give me a bit.” He tips his head back and sighs sharply. “Oh God, Sherlock, you're so tight, so hot, move with me.”

My dorsal muscles quiver. While I'm softly praising any fate above me for having the good grace to have allowed me to come minutes prior, I'm nearly at my pique again. I'm at my wits end, my limbs ache as they flex rhythmically, pulsing as I stave off another premature release. “Oh John,” I squawk, reaching up to hold his biceps, my fingers fanning over the old claw marks on his fair skin. 

His thrusts begin to lose their masterful pace and pick up, a series are hard, quick thrusts as he bows to take my lips in a sloppy, wet, tongue-filled snog. “Fuck, Sherlock.” He growls darkly. “God... shit...” He guides my legs around his hips and gently pats my left thigh. 

His thrusts aren't quite so deep, but they gain speed and force as he pounds his cock into me, holding my face as he consumes me, inhaling me, stealing my breath away in slow pulls of his tongue. I hold tight to him while he fucks rigorously, framing my face with his hands. “Jesus. Oh God.”

“I have you, sweetheart.” He assures kindly, kissing my chin. “I'm almost there, sweetheart. So close, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he shoves his face into my neck and hisses,  _ “Fuck! Fuck!” _ His hands wrap fiercely around the tops of my thighs and drags me further, more sharply onto his prick. “Oh, I want you come again, love, come for me.” He scrambles for my hand and shoves it to my crotch. 

I gasp, squeezing his bicep. I had no idea I'd already achieved an erection once more. It has only been a few minutes-

“Fuck your fist, Sherlock, please.” He snarls, his muscles flexing beautifully beneath his clothes. “Fuck,  _ Christ,” _ he growls, and I nearly come from that alone. 

Hurriedly, I pump my cock, shouting in alarm. I'm so goddamn sensitive, my eyes start to water and I can feel my muscles twitch and convulse. “John,” I breathe quietly, using my unoccupied hand to clutch against his skull, my back starts to arch, “I'm going to.” I tell him. It has not taken me long at all to reach my edge again. 

His fingers dig into my hipbones as he thrusts another seven rough pumps and he groans quite happily, satisfactorily, into my throat, and immediately dislodges despite my mew of dissatisfaction. “I know my love, I know.” He promises, kissing my collarbones lazily. “I'm sorry. I know,” he overtakes my strokes, nuzzling the inside of my thigh and steadily bringing me to my edge. 

“Oh, fuck, hell, shit, hell, damn,” I hold onto his hair once more and he hums like a content wolf, his dark eyes gliding along my chafed torso to my face. He smiles, darkly, affectionately, warmly, and heat shoots through my body, from my cock and up my spine, evoking a shivery cry from my lungs. 

My eyes have just begun to work again when he sits up and looks at his semen-smeared jumper, muttering about having it laundered before pulling it off and throwing it aside. “You need a wash.” He informs me as he slumps down, halfway on top of me. 

Without my conscious control, I thread my fingers into his hair and hold his scalp, appreciating his warmth. I can feel him smile against my chest as he stretches out, wrapping one arm around my midsection. “Skin is easier to clean than wool.” I reply sleepily. While, yes, I admit I'm not the best kempt I've ever been, I'm much too tired to make a valiant effort in bathing. 

John kisses my jugular, left hand gliding down my flank. “Fair enough. Do you feel alright?”

My eyelids slide uselessly over my corneas. “Yes.”

“Ready to get up for a shower?” He snickers as I slink down in his embrace with a long whine of discontent. “I know, I know, but you've got to get this off you.” He scrapes his thumb nail over the semen on my stomach, leaving a trail of peachy, irritated skin behind. “You're chafed enough, you'll start itching.”

“I'm already itchy.” I mutter, flopping an arm over my face and nearly punching John in the breast bone. 

Lips press gently into my jaw, then down my neck, and finally to my shoulder. “Fine. How about I run a bath for the both of us and get your bed ready for you to have a kip?”

I sigh as if having John bathe me would be the greatest chore of humankind. In fact, I can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Very well.” I cede, grunting when he sits up to quickly kiss my mouth and stand, zipping his jeans, and sauntering down the hall. Yes - sauntering. He only ever saunters after sex and it's the most irritatingly attractive feature of his. 

Using the minute or two bestowed upon me, waiting until the old pipes groan and the lazy trickle becomes a forceful cascade and John vacates the toilet in favour of my bedroom. I hesitantly bring my hand to my entrance. It's hypersensitive and aches like the dickens, but I touch it nevertheless. The pain is a surprise, I bite down on the knuckle of my thumb, simultaneously guiding my index finger into my body. I'm still slick and open from... use... but as far as I can tell, I'm not injured at all, superficial or otherwise. 

John swears in the other room and I freeze, looking towards the halfway. No footsteps - I suspect the blankets from the shelf in the closet fell on top of him. Hearing him snarl,  _ “goddamn things,” _ merely proves my suspicion. The burn abates from a sting to a discomfort as I touch myself. I'm guiltily pleased that John isn't present: I believe being so exposed in his field of vision would thoroughly ruin my self-image. 

I'm just as he left me when he returns. I suppose I am quite fortunate to have someone who enjoys my eccentricities as much as John down. Of course, I may be misreading his irritated smile as somewhat fond as he stands in the mouth of the halfway with his hands on his hips. 

I've still got (most of) my shirt and coat on, but otherwise I'm nude and stretched out like a Mayan offering. 

“Alright, you lazy prick.” He says at last. Oh, his button is still undone. I can see the hem of his briefs underneath the denim. How oddly erotic. The insult is said with hardly enough barb to qualify as an insult, and I simply watch him as he comes closer. If I'd been offended by his words, he would be entirely forgiven, simply due to the way he brushes my hair aside and pets my temple with the pad of his thumb. “Up, already. Come on.”

After plenty of smiles and praise on his part, I allow him to get me on my feet. Leaning against him like a dead weight is merely an added bonus. He sees through it, I'm sure; John is not brilliant, but he has learned to me much better than he once did. He doesn't comment or complain, just dutifully leads me to the toilet and sits me down on the edge of the tub. I'm not sure when it became so easy to accept innocent affection, but I don't so much as crinkle my nose when he kisses my forehead then straightens to watch the  bath fill. The realisation amazes me a bit. I recoil from my mother, even, yet John can do nearly anything he pleased and I would likely not acknowledge it as anything more than innocuous. The virtue of him being spectacularly transparent, I suppose. 

“In you get, my lovely disaster.” He announces while I merely hum. My mouth is not my own when I grin at his snort. Saintly as ever, he tucks his arm underneath my knees and behind my shoulders before carefully lowering me into the water and letting me sink when I'm barely a centimetre from the bottom.

I'm pleasantly surprised when I bother to scan for sensation again. Rather than the lukewarm soak John prefers and I had been expecting, the water is worn body. My chest rattles and I realise I'm moaning as I sink as deep as humanly possible in our tiny tub. The only part of my body to break the surface are my knees. 

“Don't fall asleep.” I vaguely comprehend John command. I open my eyes to give him a seething glare, but I fall short. He's already pushed down his trousers and is fixing to do the same with his pants. The time for showmanship is over, I submit, watching him disrobe efficiently.  While he removes his socks I close my eyes, groaning when he nudges me forward to make space behind me, where he sits. 

A wet hand scrapes over my scalp and I sink further, propping my legs against the wall when I'm able to reach. I can feel his smile when he wets my hair and mutters to himself. “Useless bastard. Can't even wash his own hair.”

“Why rob you of the experience?” I respond quietly with a catlike stretch. My muscles refuse to move for the rest of the bath. I merely slide around wherever John pushes me. His calloused hands are quick where they touch me. It's not one of the long baths I'm prone to. I'm sure John realised I would hardly be able to keep my footing in the shower and decided that a bath would be wiser. 

He quickly rinses the crusted ejaculate from my torso and washes my face cautiously. “You're gonna drown, slouched like that.” He warns, dipping down to kiss my nose. 

I smile, gazing at his rumpled hair and jewelescent eyes. “You wouldn't let me drown, John?”

He feigns deep thought. “Might finally take the hit out on you. I hear it'd pay good.” He smirks, jumping mildly when I spring up to kiss him. 

“Dick.” I break away to growl. I wonder if I've ever loved so fiercely before now?


End file.
